OLD GUNS 02

There’s an attractive, in some ways more authentic world that calls out from the periphery of our dreams. It’s partially obscured by the white lace of time and the curling trail of gun smoke. By the sinuous billows of rock-lined campfires, steam blown out the bottom sides of resting locomotives, the opaque exhaust coiling upwards from saloon cigars, and those thin white clouds snaking out of the bores of sated Colt’s arms. It’s a world infused with the active images from our childhood at the matinee, and yet grounded in an ancient memory of a world that is decidedly real.

As up to date and civilized as we might be, we find ourselves tempted by what we imagine to be a time of adventure and a world of honor. A place where being a “character”– the acting out of one’s true self– is rewarded instead of punished. A place where one is fairly tested, with an equal opportunity to become a hero in the eyes of the dusty little children following behind. A place of freedom that speaks of and to God, a place too big for fences. A place of git-fiddles, sun bonnets and cowboy hats.